


grief

by cautiouslyoptimistic



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cautiouslyoptimistic/pseuds/cautiouslyoptimistic
Summary: kara remembered her every loss with stunning clarityor, kara has dealt with a lot of grief over the years
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 24
Kudos: 310





	grief

**Author's Note:**

> possible trigger warnings: there's brief mentions of suicidal ideation/self-harm, but nothing explicit. if that concerns you, skip over part three (bargaining). 
> 
> for the one who saw value in me when I couldn’t, the one who was kind, gentle, and so good. you deserved better and I owe you so much. thank you for saving my life. here’s to you.

**i. Denial**

(Kara remembered her every loss with stunning clarity.)

She spent exactly two weeks with Kal-El after he pulled her out of her pod and before he took her to the Danvers. He never actually asked her what she wanted, but he stared at her as though she was something he didn’t recognize, something he had never encountered before. They would sit across from each other, in his tiny little kitchen, at his rickety little table and chairs, and just _stare_. Seconds stretching to minutes, minutes lasting what felt like hours, their eyes never straying from one another.

(Later, much later, she’ll wonder about that. She’ll wonder if perhaps he first intended to keep her, but that _she_ was somehow to blame for pushing him away.

Perhaps, she’ll think, she was too _other_ , too _alien_ , too…disruptive.)

“Kara, I—” he said, stopping and rubbing his eyes, his accented and stilted way of speaking their language grating on Kara’s ears even as she offered him a polite smile. He was so _old_. An adult, nothing like the baby her Uncle Jor-El placed into her arms and made her promise to watch over right after he was born.

_He is different_ , her uncle had explained as she held Kal-El, smiling at the noises he was making, _he will need someone as strong and smart as you on his side._

“We’re wasting so much time, Kal,” Kara said, watching him run his fingers through his hair and straighten his glasses. She couldn’t be sure, she didn’t know him, but the movements seemed practiced, forced, _purposeful_ , and it set Kara on edge. “Who knows what’s happened since my pod got knocked off course.”

“Not this again, Kara,” Kal-El muttered, tiredness replacing his awkwardness, his hesitancy towards her. She wondered if he understood what he was doing, if he realized how disconnected he made her feel. They only had each other, but he had erected ten-foot thick walls between them, all in an effort to keep her at bay—to keep her at a distance.

(Later, much later, she’ll wonder if she wasn’t better off for it, for the distance.

He didn’t get her then; he would never really get her.)

“We have to go save the others,” she explained to him slowly, trying to make him see, make him understand, trying to make _this_ explanation different from the dozen he’d already ignored, trying to speak in the language he would understand. She picked up languages unnaturally quickly, but her only exposure to the human language, English, came from the hour of ‘television’ Kal-El put on when he first brought her to his apartment in Metropolis, keeping her “busy” while he spoke in hushed tones to some rectangular object called a ‘phone,’ assuming she could not hear him.

(She could.

It began almost immediately, if slowly, the onslaught of noise. First, it was footsteps down a set of stairs right outside Kal-El’s home, then it was the sound of a strange animal several floors above, then it was the crash of glass as a man dropped a bottle a block away.

Of _course_ she could hear Kal-El’s whispering in the other room—many of the words were foreign, but she understood what mattered: _Kara_ and _Krypton_ and _I thought they were all gone_.)

“Kara, they’re gone,” Kal-El told her, his eyes flashing with impatience, with pain—like she dredged up something he thought was long buried. Long forgotten. Like her belief was an _inconvenience_ to him. “Krypton is gone.”

“I know that,” Kara snapped, standing abruptly, her chair crashing to the ground, the reverberations of the sound pounding in her skull. “I saw Krypton die, _you_ didn’t.”

(She saw the fire, the explosion, could see it every time she closed her eyes, every time she heard a loud noise or someone made a sudden movement.

She didn’t think she’d ever _stop_ seeing it, and she _hated_ the look on Kal-El’s face.)

“Kara—”

“—stop it,” she demanded, shaking her head. This argument was not new. This reaction was not new. This _disbelief_ was not new. “Stop it. They’re alive, they’re out there. We have to help them.”

“Krypton is gone,” he tried, clearly attempting to be patient, to explain it all over again, not knowing his tone, his accent, his forced mannerisms made her want to ask him what he really knew, what he could possibly know, when he really was nothing more than a human. “They’re gone—”

“We’re still here.”

“They saved us, Kara.”

“There were other pods, other ways of escaping. They made it out, Kal-El.” She paused, breaking eye contact for just a moment, seeing Krypton explode once more (the image seared into the back of her eyelids, etched into her every waking moment, every helpless thought), the last vestiges of warmth from her parents’ goodbye feeling faint and weak. “They had to have made it out,” she said weakly, blinking and refocusing on Kal-El.

“Kara, don’t you think I want that too? Don’t you think I wish they made it? But they didn’t. They gave _us_ a chance, they’re not coming back.”

“No.” Kara said blankly, shaking her head and taking several steps back. “No, you’re wrong. They’re out there. They need us.” That moment with them wasn’t the last, it couldn’t be. If they were smart enough to get her and Kal-El out, they must have had another way out for themselves. It couldn’t be the end. It couldn’t have been goodbye. _That didn’t make any sense_.

(Later, much later, she’ll think that she pushed too hard, that where she had blind faith, he only saw childish denial.

Later, much later, she’ll think that he sent her away not because he couldn’t care for a child, but because she was what he could never be: Kryptonian, forever wanting a home she’d never get back. Forever looking at Kal-El like the poor imitation of her people he was.)

“Kara, I’m sorry, but they’re gone,” he told her, his tone flat, his eyes on his hands rather than on her. “You have to accept it.”

“You’re wrong, _Clark_ ,” Kara managed to say, still frantically shaking her head, and not two days later, she was introduced to the Danvers.

**ii. Anger**

(Kara remembered her every loss with stunning clarity.)

When Alex stormed into their shared bedroom, Kara was rather sure she was a sight to behold: Kara, on her bed, legs crossed, eyes glowing and the remnants of a piece of paper in her hands.

“You know mom says you’re not supposed to use your powers in the house,” Alex said conversationally, not mentioning the ashes in Kara’s hands or how Kara was sitting unnaturally still. “Want your glasses?” she asked as she stepped into the room, picking Kara’s glasses up from where she’d tossed them on the floor, not waiting for Kara’s nod before gently pushing them back on. The heaviness of her lead-lined glasses slowly brought Kara back to herself, the heat behind her eyes slowly dissipating, enough so that Alex felt comfortable enough to sit next to her on the bed. “Something wrong, Kara?” she asked quietly, a seriousness to her tone that was absent before.

“I _hate_ her,” Kara bit out, letting the ashes from her hands drop to the floor, then wiping her hands on her duvet. Alex made a face, but quickly went back to seriousness when Kara’s eyes shifted from her hands to her sister. “She _stole_ him. She _took_ him. My family, my blood, _the last of my people_ ,” she hissed out, hands clenching into fists. “And I hate her.”

(Her relationship with Clark was strange and strained. They were the last of their kind, they shared the same powers, the same lineage, the same _history_ , but they were not the same.

She was alien, in every sense of the word. And he was a boy from Kansas, a boy who was loved as Clark and worshipped as Superman, who didn’t have time for his silly, teenage cousin. He was _human_ , really, but he was as close to her kind she could ever get.)

Alex frowned, then hesitantly reached out, taking one of Kara’s clenched fists into her hands, slowly and carefully tugging on Kara’s fingers until she could thread them through hers.

“What happened?” she asked, pulling on their joined hands until they were pressed right below her collarbone, allowing Kara to use the physical feeling of Alex’s heartbeat to relax her breathing. 

“He’s not coming,” Kara explained dispassionately, feeling something in her boil over. She _hated_ her _,_ she hated her _so much_. “To Earth birthday. He says Lois needs him right now.” She sucked in a deep breath, knowing her eyes were beginning to glow again if the heat behind them was anything to go by, and she could tell Alex was at a loss.

(She hid her feelings. As best she could anyway. She and Alex would spend hours stargazing, she’d sit with her adoptive sister and talk to her throughout the night about all her memories of Krypton, needing to keep her home alive somehow. But she was careful with feelings, careful to keep up an image of a cheerful, optimistic, happy teenage human. She had to, not only to pass, but to avoid pitying glances from her adoptive family, to avoid the questions it could raise, to avoid being _different_ , but most of all to avoid that crushing weight on her chest that threatened her very ability to breathe.

Something about being weak around the humans felt _wrong_.)

“I’m sorry, Kara,” Alex said, reaching out tentatively and brushing Kara’s hair back. “It’s okay to be sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Kara snapped, pulling away. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m _angry_.”

“Right, okay, I—”

“—it’s obvious what happened,” Kara continued hotly, getting to her feet, pacing. “Lois must have told him not to come. She must have convinced him. She has never liked me, never liked the fact that I make him more like what he’s _supposed_ to be, so she’s trying to keep us apart.” She took a deep breath, turning to Alex with wide eyes. “She’s manipulating my cousin, she’s _dangerous_.”

Alex looked at Kara with something resembling pity, and immediately set Kara on edge. “Oh, Kara,” she said softly. “It’s okay to be hurt but—”

“—I’m not _hurt_ , you know I’m right, you know Lois must have—”

“—manipulated Clark into being busy? Kara, don’t you think you’re just overthinking it and overreacting?”

It was the wrong thing to say. And judging from the way Alex’s eyes immediately widened, her hands immediately coming up, as if to grab Kara, she knew it as well.

“Overthinking? _Overreacting_?” Kara hissed, and her hands shook. It _stung_ , coming from Alex. Coming from someone who knew her so well. She hated that it felt like a rejection, that it felt like a judgment, that it felt like Alex was taking _Lois’_ side. She hated that she wasn’t able to hide just how much the comment affected her.

(It _burned_ , it _hurt_ , it was like Alex had just said she thought Kara was ridiculous. As though her worries and concerns were baseless and silly.

She didn’t like how it felt. She didn’t like being made to feel _small_ when all she wanted was someone to _hear_ her, someone to take her hand and say _yes, I get it, I understand what you feel, I’m_ listening.)

“Kara, that’s not what I meant. Look I—”

“—you’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” Kara managed, unsure how any words made it out of her clenched jaw. “Just leave me alone.” She didn’t even spare Alex a glance—using just a touch of her superspeed so as to avoid Alex following her or stopping her, Kara turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, desperate (not for the first time since landing on this horrid planet) to just _get away_.

x

Sometimes, when she wasn’t careful, when she wasn’t paying attention, her thoughts drifted down a path with which she wasn’t altogether proud. Normally, she was able to catch herself, redirect, avoid the dark path she was going down, plastering a cheerful smile on her face and refocusing her energies on something else.

Today was not a normal day.

Her hands kept shaking, and she was biting down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood had she been human. She felt tight and wound up and ready to blow, every noise an annoyance, every single glance her way grating on her mind. She wanted it to stop, to just _stop_.

(She wanted to scream. To shout. To tell Alex she was wrong to treat Kara like she was crazy. To demand that Lois give back her cousin. To finally ask Clark why he wouldn’t just _stay_ , how he could just turn his back on her.

To grab her parents and shout until they could explain. How could they send her away, how could they just stand there and watch as she was thrust into space? Why didn’t they figure out another way? Why didn’t they come with her? Why did they abandon her, force responsibility on her shoulders for which she wasn’t prepared, ask her to do something for which she was no longer needed, afford her a purpose she could never fulfill?

She was so… _angry_. At her parents, at the people who were supposed to be here, who were supposed to help her. At Clark for choosing everything over her, who made no secret of his uncomfortableness around her. At Lois for being an easy scapegoat, an easy target to blame. At Alex for trying so hard with her and saying the wrong thing.

At _herself_. For not being enough. For failing. For her weakness. For every single dark thought that went through her head.

She was _so angry_.)

Kara’s eyes, for the third time that day, burned, the pressure behind them giving her a headache. But this time, it had nothing to do with her powers. Instead, when she pressed her fingertips to the back of her eyelids, they came away wet. She blinked furiously, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves, swallowing hard as she turned her gaze to the sky.

The sun was setting now, and her view from the rooftop of the Danvers’ home was breathtaking. Moments like this one, when she heard the chirping of birds, the rustle of the wind over grass and leaves, the sound of the waves breaking against the beach, all beneath the reddish-pink hue of the sky, made her feel…calm. Or at least calmer.

And in the calm, as her anger finally swept away, she was left with nothing but heartache.

“Can I sit down?”

(It was nice of him. To ask. To not just assume he could.

He was always decent, always good. Always willing to help. His entire family was like that. It was as if once you became a Danvers, you were imbued with this uncanny ability to be _kind_.

Sometimes, Kara felt guilty for all her anger. She felt guilty that, in her loneliest moments, when she just wanted a taste of Krypton, she wished Clark would come back for her. She felt guilty, because what she had with the Danvers was the best thing about this planet—more so than the earth, the sky, and everything in between.)

“Yeah,” Kara murmured, moving slightly so that Jeremiah could sit beside her. He looked vaguely queasy, and she remembered suddenly that he wasn’t very fond of heights. She wondered if he knew that she would catch him if he ever fell, no matter what.

“I heard you’re angry. And that you and Alex had a fight.”

“It’s fine,” Kara said, not looking at Jeremiah.

“Okay,” he said after a short pause. When he didn’t say anything else for a whole minute, Kara turned to him, frowning when she noticed his eyes were on the setting sun, a soft smile on his lips.

“Are we just going to sit here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “In silence? You’re okay with that?” In her experience, no one was okay with that. Eliza didn’t push, per se, but she always seemed to encourage talking about feelings. Alex could look at Kara and just _know_ how to get the words out. Even Jeremiah had always been fond of talking emotions out. So to be willing to sit in silence…it was strange.

“You know,” Jeremiah said slowly, clearing his throat and turning to Kara with a smile, “this sort of thing is hard for us humans too. I don’t know if there’s a right way to deal with it. I just thought,” he stopped, as if rethinking his words. “I’m here. I’m just going to be here for you. And if that’s to sit in silence, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“What do you mean, this sort of thing?” Kara demanded, though she already knew, though she could read it on Jeremiah’s expression, though the fight was quickly spilling out of her, though she knew she’d finally reached her breaking point and she couldn’t hide behind her anger anymore.

“There’s nothing wrong with how you feel, Kara,” Jeremiah said, not answering her question. “It’s gonna be okay.”

(What would be okay? Losing her planet? Her home? Her family? Losing Clark? Her last connection to her culture?

What did she feel? Broken? Afraid? Angry? So, so _heartbroken_?)

Jeremiah’s eyes were full of patience and kindness and affection. And Kara began to cry.

“How do I make it stop?” she asked him between heaving breaths, burying her face in his shoulder, grateful when he didn’t pull her in for a hug, just placed his hand on the back of her head and allowed her tears to soak through his shirt. “I just want it to stop.”

_I want it to stop hurting_.

“Grief is hard, Kara,” he responded, sounding choked. “I wish I knew how to make it easier. I really do, and I’m so sorry that I don’t. But you have us, okay? You have us.”

(And long after the sun had set, after they made their way down from the roof, when Eliza revealed her chocolate pecan pie and Alex egged Kara on to open her gifts, Kara realized she believed him.

She had lost a planet, her culture, the last of her kind. But she had also found a family.)

**iii. Bargaining**

(Kara remembered her every loss with stunning clarity.)

Lena took her hand gently, her eyes never wavering from Kara’s, and she tugged.

“Come on, Kara,” she said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Maybe I should—” Alex started, cutting herself off almost immediately, though Kara wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t really paying attention. She didn’t really much care.

(Perhaps, she’d think much later on, if the events hadn’t taken place so close together, she would’ve been fine. Perhaps it was the fact that she hadn’t yet recovered from the first blow when she got hit with two more.

Perhaps, she’d wonder much later on, when Alex still watched her like a hawk and Lena poorly masked her concern with constant invitations to lunch, she could’ve handled it better if she’d just had a chance to breathe.

Perhaps, really, time and distance and a chance to breathe wouldn’t have made a difference at all. It was always going to be this way, feel this way, no matter what.)

“Kara, come on,” Lena repeated, this time a little louder, this time her tug on Kara’s hand a little rougher, and Kara idly wondered if she was acting human enough—allowing enough of a pull, carefully calibrating how much she needed to move in response to Lena’s show of minor force, so that she came off as normal. So that she could avoid a conversation about why she was immovable like a boulder. Judging from Lena’s frown, Kara didn’t think she’d been as careful as she should’ve been, but for whatever reason, in that moment, she didn’t care.

(Let Lena ask questions. Let her find out. What did it matter?

What did it matter if Kara was always destined to _lose_ the ones she loved anyway?)

“Kara, _please_ ,” Lena said, and Kara’s thoughts suddenly focused, her attention on the woman in front of her. Lena. _Lena._

(There was something about Lena. Something Kara wasn’t sure she understood. Everything felt so much… _easier_ …when she was around Lena.

She was also confused. She was also overwhelmed. But when Lena took her hand and squeezed, or when she idly patted Kara on the back, or when she held on when they hugged for just a few seconds too long, Kara felt something ease away. Weights getting cast off.

A moment to just _breathe_.)

(Lena was different. Lena, if Kara ever gathered the courage to confess who she was, could understand her.

Kara was sure of it.)

“I can’t,” she whispered, not needing the soft look in Lena’s eyes to know she knew exactly what Kara was talking about.

_I can’t go to bed. I can’t sleep. I can’t face the nightmares._

“Okay,” Lena said, swallowing and letting go of Kara’s hand, shifting so that she was gripping Kara’s elbow instead. “Okay, then what will help? A movie? Too much takeout? Some wine, maybe?” From across the room, Alex let out a mirthless chuckle, but neither Kara nor Lena turned her way. “What do you need, Kara?” Lena asked, biting down on her lip, concern marring her features.

Kara blinked. What did she need?

She couldn’t say.

(It wasn’t that she didn’t know what she needed, because she was painfully aware. No, she just couldn’t say it aloud.

If she spoke it—she didn’t think even _Lena_ would understand.)

“What about a bath?” Alex suggested suddenly, and Kara broke eye contact with Lena for the first time to look over at her sister. “What do you think?”

“Okay,” Kara said, nodding her assent. Alex grinned and pointed towards Kara’s closet, clearly suggesting she was going to get some clothes, while Lena led Kara towards the bathroom.

“How hot do you want—” Lena began, cutting herself off when Kara just began to strip off her jacket. “Kara, maybe wait—”

“I can do this alone,” Kara mumbled, turning towards the bath and twisting the knobs, not quite caring about the temperature. “I don’t need anyone.”

“Kara—”

“—that’s fine,” Alex interrupted as she walked into the bathroom, placing a bundle of clothes on the vanity. Kara turned and eyed her sister suspiciously. “We’ll be in the kitchen, okay? I’ll make some hot chocolate.”

“Alex, we can’t just—” Lena tried, but Alex shook her head, shooting Lena a look Kara didn’t understand. In a manner of seconds, Kara was alone.

She crouched and pulled off her socks, ran her fingers through her hair to get it out of its braid, and tossed her glasses carelessly to the side, before she sunk to the ground next to the bath. Someone, on the other side of the city, had turned up their radio, practically blasting a melancholic classical piece, using it to hide the sound of their sobs. Kara sighed, focusing on the music rather than everything else, and turned her head slightly to watch the flow of water slowly filling the bath. She wondered how she got here.

(It started with Astra. Being so close to saving her. Being so close to having her family back. Having it torn away, again and again, in her nightmares about the Black Mercy.

Then it was Alex. Almost losing her, being seconds away from never seeing her smile or make fun of Kara again. All the panic of not being enough, not being _enough for anyone_ , swelling and consuming her.

And then there was Mon-El.)

Kara blinked. The bath had nearly filled without her noticing. With a sigh, she leaned over and shut off all the knobs, the answering silence in the bathroom feeling deafening. The person across the city with the sad music had shut it off—someone was whispering to them, muttering platitudes. It made Kara want to scream.

(No, it _wouldn’t_ be okay. It would never be okay. Everyone she knew, everyone she loved, _left_. How could it possibly ever be okay?

She was tired of it. She was done with it. What did she want? What did she need?

For it to be _over_.)

Her hands shook as she stood, climbing into the bath without taking off her jeans or her shirt. She sank into the water, allowing it to soak through her clothes, and she took a deep breath before letting go, fully submerging herself in the water.

(Over. She wanted it to be over.

And she knew what it meant: Take _her_ , she thought. Take _her_ , and bring back Krypton, her parents, _Astra_ , Mon-El…take _her_ , and leave everyone else alone.

A trade, a bargain, a deal. With Rao, the universe, whatever higher power was out there.

Take _her_. Take her, and let everyone else be _safe_.)

How long could a Kryptonian go without oxygen? (Quite some time—she didn’t think she even needed to breathe—but she’d find out for sure now.)

She shifted her focus from the sad person across the city to the two people in her kitchen, two people she loved _so much_. They were whispering, talking about her, and had it been any other time, Kara would’ve laughed at how awkward Alex sounded as she attempted to change the subject, clearly aware that Kara could listen in.

“Alex, please, we have to talk about it,” Lena practically begged. “I know I’m not some sort of shining example of dealing with grief, but even I know this isn’t good for her. She’s not dealing with it the right way.”

Alex sighed, and Kara could practically imagine how her sister would lean against the kitchen counter, pinch the bridge of her nose, and shake her head, finally forced to talk about something she didn’t want to talk about.

“Listen,” Alex began slowly, clearly thinking her words over carefully, clearly meaning them for Kara’s ears and not Lena’s, “I don’t know if there is a _right_ way to deal with grief. And she’s…she’s lost more than you know.” She paused, and Kara imagined that she was straightening, meeting Lena’s eyes head on, a steely expression on her face—the same one Kara tried to imitate when she was Supergirl. “I think sometimes the best you can do is just…be there. And I will be here for her. She has _me_. No matter what, that will never change.”

“Us,” Lena said softly, and Kara wrapped her arms around herself, water splashing over the edge of the bath and to the floor. “She has me, too.”

(Kara was so _tired_. She was tired of losing everyone she loved. She was tired of hurting. She was tired of not being enough.

She’d give anything to get back Krypton, her family, Mon-El.

But maybe…maybe…)

Kara sat up, ignoring the sloshing water and pulling her knees to her chest. She wasn’t sure how long she just sat in the water like that when the bathroom door opened slowly, and Alex and Lena slipped in. Neither of them mentioned the mess Kara made, the fact that she was still clothed and soaked, the fact that the water had long since gone cold. Instead, Alex spread out towels and Lena gently tugged on Kara’s hand, coaxing her out of the tub. She felt them wrap a towel around her shoulders, felt them get the excess water out of her hair, then felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her.

“I love you, Kara. And you’ll be okay,” Alex whispered.

(Maybe, maybe Alex was right.)

And much like the sad person across the city, right after they got their platitudes, Kara broke down into sobs. But Lena and Alex were true to their word:

They were there for her.

**iv. Depression**

(Kara remembered her every loss with stunning clarity.)

It started slowly—slowly enough that even Kara didn’t notice it. Not at first.

It was mornings that getting out of bed was more of a struggle. It was not remembering when she last ate. It was sleepless nights, lethargic weekends, the slow dulling of her feelings.

She was in it before she even noticed it started, and at that point, any sort of effort to pull herself out seemed, well, moot.

(But if she had to guess, really pinpoint the exact moment it started, she figured it was when she lost _Lena_.)

She sighed heavily, chin in hand, elbow propped up on her desk, and she stared at her computer screen with glazed over eyes. The deadline James set for her was looming, her research was spread out over her desk, but her word count was embarrassingly low.

_Aliens in National City still struggle with fear following the fall of the Children of Liberty_ , she wrote, the testimonies of nearly two dozen aliens and even a handful humans ready to be incorporated into the story. James had said it would do as a follow-up to her Lex Luthor story, especially as she had point blank refused to do an _actual_ Lex Luthor follow-up.

(“I can’t,” she had told James when he tried to assign her the article. “I can’t write about him, not now.”

James had sighed and rubbed his temples, but ultimately gave in rather quickly. “Okay. Okay, then you can do another feature. Write about something important to you.”)

But writing…

It wasn’t the same.

(She _loved_ her job, loved to go out in the city and interview all sorts of people, then come back and try to put what she learned into words. She loved the feeling of puzzling things together, of exposing problems, of offering a different perspective.

Journalism was so _important_ to her. Digging out the truth, her words touching people—even changing some people’s minds—was all she ever really wanted to do. To make a difference, somehow, someway.

But now, the words didn’t come the way they used to.)

Kara let out another heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair and turning to look outside the window behind her. She hadn’t put on the suit in a few days, this prompting enough concern that one of National City’s tabloids had published an issue with a photo from after her fight with Reign, big, bold letters proclaiming her to be dead. She knew that if she didn’t get out there soon, more reputable sources would start questioning her absence as well, but there was a part of her that didn’t care.

She couldn’t write.

She couldn’t bring herself to put on the suit.

She just wanted…a break.

“Okay,” Nia said, her voice cutting into Kara’s melancholy almost jarringly, “I’m _done_ writing frilly pieces. I want something serious. I want something _substantial_. I’m ready,” she continued, oblivious to Kara’s distraction, slamming a cup of coffee down on Kara’s desk, just barely missing sloshing its contents over Kara’s careful research. “Help me convince James, Kara. Please. _Please_ ,” she repeated, as if Kara hadn’t heard her the first time.

“Nia, I—”

“—I know you think I need more practice, but Kara, I swear I’m ready. Not all of us can be Pulitzer winning journalists, but we can definitely _try_ ,” she added playfully, grinning at Kara. She seemed so…proud? Kara wasn’t sure. It was harder, lately, to tell. “The coffee is yours, by the way. It’s not a bribe. If you were wondering. It’s a gift. To thank you. For helping me convince James, but definitely _not_ a bribe.”

“Right,” Kara muttered, gathering her papers slowly. Nia watched her for a moment, silent, her head cocked slightly to the side as her brows furrowed in concern.

“Everything okay, Kara?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be okay?” Kara said, trying to inject as much confidence and cheerfulness in her tone as she possibly could. If anything, Nia seemed more concerned.

“You’ve been through a lot lately,” Nia said slowly, a frown appearing on her lips, “especially everything with Lena. It’s okay if you’re—”

“—you can have my assignment,” Kara interrupted, not willing to listen to anyone discussing Lena. “I’ve already done most of the legwork, just have a draft ready by the end of the day.”

Rather than look pleased about this, Nia looked alarmed. “Kara, that’s not—James wouldn’t—you’re….” She trailed off helplessly, eyes roving Kara’s face like she was searching for something.

“Finish the draft and let me worry about James. You said you were ready for a bigger assignment, didn’t you?” She handed Nia all her research and grabbed her bag, before making to move past Nia.

“Kara, wait—” Nia tried, reaching out to grab Kara’s wrist.

Kara didn’t wait. She tugged her arm out of Nia’s grasp and rushed off, not looking back once.

x

If she’d ever been asked to describe it, she’d say it was like falling right back into the Phantom Zone. It was endless darkness, endless silence, feeling cramped in a small space, desperate to get out, desperate to see the light, to _breathe_ , time dragging along slowly in that never-ending chasm.

But it was also different from her time in the Phantom Zone. Then, she’d felt fear. She’d felt heartbreak. She’d panicked. But now…now she was numb. Even in her worst moments in that pod, in those years drifting in space in that half-asleep state, there’d been some _hope_ that it would end. There’d been a sense that regardless of how endless the darkness seemed, it would give way to light eventually.

But now, she felt nothing. Not fear, not panic, not heartbreak, not even that tight grip of grief that she thought she would never escape. She was so…empty. Devoid of every feeling at all—even the one she most prized, even the one that she’d been the Paragon of: Hope.

Kara didn’t know how to describe it other than this: it was an abyss.

And she was lost to it.

x

“Does she seem different to you?” Nia was asking the others, her voice dropping to a whisper. Kara sighed, wondering how her friends kept forgetting about her superhearing.

“What do you mean?” Brainy asked, sounding oddly strained, his tone overly curious. Unable to help it, Kara pushed her glasses up to her forehead, using her X-ray vision to watch her friends through the wall.

“She seems fine to me,” Alex said, shrugging, but her heart rate had an uptick, her breathing hitched just a little bit. She was _lying_.

“Kara hasn’t written a single story for CatCo in _months_. James has been using her as a copy editor,” Nia said, holding up a single finger. “This is the first game night she’s come to in ages.” Another finger went up. “She never wants to get lunch anymore.” A third finger. “I don’t think I’ve heard her say more than ten words total all night.” Four fingers. “And we only ever see her at work or when Supergirl is needed.” She held up the last finger on her hand. “She’s not fine.”

Kara heaved a deep breath, tore her glasses off, and was halfway across National City before she realized Nia and Alex hadn’t forgotten about her superhearing at all—they wanted her to hear.

x

She was curled up on her couch, had been there since she got back from stopping a string of burglaries, when she heard a tentative knock on her door.

“Hey, Kara,” Alex said, voice barely above a whisper, muffled slightly, as if she had pressed her face against the wood. “We’re here for you, all of us. Don’t forget that, okay?” She paused, and Kara looked up at the door. “I love you, Kara.”

(She always said it back. Always. Even when they fought, even when they disagreed with one another, they always said it back to each other. A promise, their own silent promise, to be there for each other through everything.

She _always_ said it back. But she was drowning. She was stuck in that abyss and she didn’t know how to _breathe_ , let alone _feel_. And the words were on the tip of her tongue, because she knew she felt it—knew that her love for her sister hadn’t gone anywhere, it was just blocked away, hidden behind that vast expanse of nothing, of _emptiness_. Yet, she couldn’t force the words out.

She _always_ said it back. She _used_ to always say it back.)

Alex stood by the door for nearly a whole minute before she turned and walked away, her footsteps sounding unnaturally loud, even for Kara.

_I love you, too, Alex_ , Kara thought helplessly, seconds, minutes, hours, days later.

And she felt something for the first time in months: the ever-familiar sense of _brokenness._

x

She was laying under the sun lamps at the DEO, Alex holding her hand as her wounds slowly healed.

“You’ve always been a little reckless, Kara,” she said softly, and when Kara turned to look her sister in the eyes, she was rather thrown by the tears rolling down Alex’s cheeks, “but you’ve never acted with so much… _disregard_ …for your own life.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Kara’s forehead. “We love you, Kara. We need you. Here. With us.” She pulled back and gestured towards the door, where all the people Kara loved were gathered: Eliza, Nia, Brainy, James, Kelly, J’onn, even Winn.

(And behind the rest of them, making herself as small as possible, even as her heartbeat and breathing betrayed her worry for Kara, was _Lena._ )

Kara felt something wet on her own cheeks, and for a moment she thought Alex was just sobbing earnestly now, but then she noticed her blurred vision and that same sensation of heat and pressure behind her eyes that she once mistook for her laser vision. She gripped Alex’s hand tighter and closed her eyes, using the forearm of her free hand to cover her face.

“Alex, I don’t know what to do,” she said, voice cracking. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay,” Alex said firmly, sounding so _sure_. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

( _El mayarah_ , Kara thought suddenly. And though she was still in that abyss, though she was still trapped in that darkness, she felt something of hers begin trickling back, something old, something oh so familiar: hope. Hope that she’d find the light yet.)

**Author's Note:**

> this was one of the hardest and worst things I've ever written. it's also different from almost everything else I've ever posted; it's more personal. we're all going through some kind of grief right now, dealing with some kind of loss, and my own experiences have made it clear that it's easy to get lost in it. to feel alone. but you're not, and I'm not, and I hope that if you got anything out of this supremely cringy fic, it's that. you're not alone. love you all very much, thanks for reading, and here's to eventually getting to acceptance


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